Sweethearts
by raptorlily
Summary: Betty comes up with a way to make up for the disaster that was Jughead's birthday party, just the two of them, just like he wanted. Feel-good, free-form fluff with a side of heated smooching. Set between episodes 1.10 and 1.11


**Sweethearts  
by Raptorlily **❤

* * *

 _Baby you're like lightning in a bottle_  
 _I can't let you go now that I got it_  
 _All I need is to be struck_  
 _By your electric love_

 _-_ Børn's 'Electric Love'

* * *

"Keep your eyes closed," Betty instructed and from the passenger seat of her mother's Lincoln Continental, Jughead lolled his head to gift her with a sardonic look. The full effect, however, was lost given that half his face was covered by a navy and light pink polka dot scarflett. It smelled faintly of that grapefruit and vanilla perfume she always wore.

"I thought we already established that I hate surprises."

"It's a good surprise," she told him sweetly and the car hit another pot-hole, jostling him. "I'm ninety-nine percent sure you'll like it."

"And if I don't?"

"Then we'll go back to Pop's, I'll get you a burger, chilli fries and a shake, and we'll never speak of it again."

They were on a dirt road now. He could hear the tires crunching on rock and gravel despite Børn's 'Electric Love' warbling over the car stereo. Betty, Jughead discovered, was one of those people who liked listening to the same playlist over and over on repeat until she—and everyone else—got sick of it. He found it annoying and endearing at the same time. Annoying, because he ardently believed there should be a medically-endorsed limit as to how many times a person could stand listen to Ed Sheeran's 'Shape of You' in a single god damn day, but endearing because they were close enough to know these little habits and because it was Betty and frankly she could listen to a Katy Perry album on repeat and Jughead wouldn't care.

(And, it should be noted, that Jughead _despised_ Katy Perry to blackest depth of his soul. He had no rational reason. He just did).

They hit another few bumps and dips, the last one sounding like it knocked the rear bumper and making Jughead bounce up out of his seat, before they pulled over. He heard Betty unbuckling her seatbelt and then her rustling around beside him, reaching behind his seat for something.

"Don't move yet and don't take off the blindfold. I'm just going to set up."

"How do I know you're not going to roll us off a ravine?"

"You don't." There was a playful lilt to her voice and he felt a burst of warmth around his mouth as she swept in to kiss him quickly. "But your hands aren't tied and I'm leaving the door unlocked, so…"

The car door slammed shut and he was left alone as she went out to do whatever she went to do. _Set up_ , she'd said. He'd been joking about the ravine, but a thread of anxiety spooled through him anyway. It was always this irrational thought, popping up when it wasn't needed, that maybe this was all some elaborate scheme that everyone was in on. After the disaster that was his birthday party and the way he'd went off on her in Archie's garage, the fact that she still wanted to be with him, wanted to share her scars and her truths, still felt a bit too good to be true.

He was just starting to get antsy, sitting in the car like an idiot and wondering if he should pull off the blindfold and risk Betty's disappointment when the passenger door opened and he nearly tumbled out. Betty caught him, though, her arms around him as she steadied him back in his seat. He instantly warmed at her touch, taken in by the citrus-sweet of her.

"All right, birthday boy," she chuckled. "Let's take two on this."

Jughead pulled the scarf down around his neck and stepped out of the car to look around. They were in the middle of a gravel field, facing what was left of the giant, aluminum projector stand. The moon was out and it was full and in the opposite corner of his periphery, Jughead could make out the sodium lights on the ANDREWS CONSTRUCTION trailer.

"You brought me to the _Drive-In_?"

Even in the dim, blue-black glow of the evening, it was apparent that the apples of Betty's cheeks were popping with pink from her smile. She took a hold of his wrist.

"Yep! But that's not the best part." She skipped him around to the back of the vehicle. As they passed the rear window, he could see the backseat was made up with blankets and pillows and her laptop. She led him further and popped open the trunk of the car where she excitedly presented him with a large take-out bag from Pop's, a bag of store-bought popcorn and a small cooler full of sodas. "Mr. Andrews says they're finishing up with demolition tomorrow. I figure since I missed the last drive-in and nothing is playing at the Bijou, we can hold an impromptu movie night here.

Jughead felt something pleasant blow up in his chest, his heart at the helm of its own ticker-tape parade. He smiled at his girlfriend and threw an affectionate arm around her shoulders, dropping a kiss on top of her forehead. "And to think I thought you were going to roll us."

"I still might," she joked. "Do you like it?"

"I l _ove_ it."

"I know how much this place means to you," Betty said, removing his arm and moving to trunk to collect their food. "But I have great memories here too and most of them are with you. This, after all, is where I got my film education."

She waggled her brows.

Jughead laughed. It was true, they had spent a lot of summers here, curled up in blankets in the rear bed of his Uncle Herman's '67 pickup. Originally, it had been the three of them—him, Betty and Archie—but as they got older and Archie discovered that there were other fun things to do at a drive-in with _other kinds of friends_ , that left Jughead and Betty to hold down their truck bed fort.

Of course, things had been a lot different back then. Betty was still nursing her long-standing crush on Archie and being cognizant of the fact that he was probably making-out with some girl that wasn't her often put a slight damper on her mood (even if she didn't always admit it). Sometimes, when she needed it, they would talk about it, Jughead hearing out her woes as she sadly leaned into him and plucked at the frayed edges of their shared threadbare blanket. Sometimes however, he managed to distract her with conversation about other things—movie trivia, some interesting sociological tidbit, a diatribe about post-grunge and why the 90's really was the best era for alternative rock—and called it a victory. She'd laugh at his jokes and his ad-libbed dialogue; regale him about some interesting fact about one of the classics parked on the lot that night, or even rattle off a piece of obscure movie trivia of her own.

It had always been easy with Betty. Like he belonged out on the lot with her in that truck, along with the rest of the town's denizens, instead of the projector booth like some Phantom of the Drive-In. He didn't mind that he and Betty were probably the only girl-boy pair in the back of a car at the drive-in _not_ sucking face. Frankly, he never dared to let himself even think about it. Betty Cooper was in love with Archie Andrews. Jughead would only ever be their weird, scowling friend in a beanie.

And yet… here they were now. Throwing arms around each other casually and kissing on the lips and making up for botched birthday parties and things that shouldn't have been said but were said anyway and it was good, because now they could move past them.

Who the hell would have thought that a murder investigation could bring two people together?

Betty flashed him another happy smile and shut the trunk and the two of them piled into the backseat with their haul. He worked on arranging the snacks while she got on all fours to pull the front seats back and flat for them to prop up their legs. She sat back on her haunches and fixed the blanket over the top of their new make-shift bed.

And that was about when Jughead felt his stomach twist itself up into a pretzel. Although the two of them wrapped up in a nest of blankets in the backseat of a car was familiar, this would be a first for them as a couple.

The first without him thinking that Archie was still in the back of her mind somewhere. Or the chance that Alice Cooper could come barging through the door at any minute.

They were completely alone in the wilderness.

Betty seemed to follow his train of thought.

"We're just going to watch a movie, cuddle and eat snacks," she smiled nervously. Her face was pinker than the wallpaper in her bedroom.

Jughead was sure his own face was some variation of that same pink as well. He could handle eating, cuddling and movie-watching. Those things were safe. Familiar. He could probably do them for the rest of his life and be perfectly happy.

Especially if Betty was there doing them with him.

The other things—the _implied_ other things suddenly filling up the space between them—however, he wasn't so sure about. Their physical relationship hadn't evolved past a handful of soft, indulgent kisses and they hadn't really talked about it otherwise. His experience was zero in that department. He was (fairly) certain that hers was about the same.

(Then again, there was Chuck's recount of his interrogation in the hot tub, and then that time he had caught her reading the 'Story of O' in the Blue and Gold offices, allegedly for an article on 'banned books'…).

He cleared his throat and did his best to give her a reassuring smile.

"You know I'm more than OK with that, Betts," he said, sliding an arm around her shoulders and the tension seemed to drain out of her. She sat back against him, tucked in like she belonged there, her laptop on the flat of her thighs. "I'm nothing if not a snuggle bunny."

Betty chuckled.

"Top ten things I would have never guessed about Jughead Jones." She playfully pressed into him in the approximation of a shoulder bump, keeping her eyes on her screen. "What do you want to watch first? _L.A Confidential_ or _Momento_?"

"It's a Guy Pearce night tonight, eh? Uh, let's do _L.A Confidential_. " _Momento_ , although an equally fantastic movie, was the drearier option of the two for a date night. He watched her pull up the video application and then let her get comfortable as they rearranged the laptop between them.

"What else is on your list?" he asked, dropping his chin to her shoulder. The producer credits started to roll.

"Hmmm?"

"'Top ten things you would have never guessed about me.'"

Betty slanted a sly look his way. "You really want to know?"

"It's why I'm asking."

"Well, how about the fact that you're an atrocious speller." She rolled her eyes at his noise of mock indignation. "Never would've guessed that about a writer or someone as intelligent as you."

"Hey!" he defended, even though he knew it was true. He was lost without spellcheck and Grammarly (much to the sadistic pleasure of Betty and her little red editor's pen, no doubt. He swore she got something out of handing back his work with at least a dozen of her neatly written 'suggestions' printed in the margins).

"For someone who eats as much as you do, you're a terrible cook," Betty continued, settling into ticking off a list on her fingers as the production credits began to roll. "The Harry Potter obsession, the Disney movies—"

"Believe in Disney magic, you muggle!"

She smiled and smooched him on the cheek. " _I_ do, I just didn't think _you_ did."

"OK, I'm starting to feel personally attacked here," Jughead grumped, trying and failing not to grin. "What kind of soulless individual must you think I am not to like _Beauty and the Beast?_ "

Betty raised a brow. "Do you want me to continue?"

"Not if you're going to be insulting!"

"OK, fine." She laughed and nuzzled under his chin, her breath warm and her silky hair tickling the side of his neck. "How about the fact that you'd gallantly climb through a girl's window like some kind of romantic hero and kiss her?" Her voice gentled. "Or help her break into an asylum to rescue her sister? Or help organize said sister's baby shower without a single complaint…?"

On screen, the production credits faded out to a panoramic view of Los Angeles and Danny DeVito began his bombastic opening monologue. Jughead reached over to hit the volume button.

"Betty…"

She looked down and he didn't have to see her to know that she was getting teary-eyed.

"…Or welcome her mother to join the Blue & Gold despite how horribly she's treated you." She swallowed audibly and he could hear the tremor in her voice. "Or look at a mess of a girl, accept her as she is and kiss her scars…"

"Hey, look at me." He slid a knuckle under her chin and tilted her head up toward him. His breath caught at the shine in her eyes. "You bring all of that out of me. I wouldn't have guessed those things about myself either."

She was just so good. So _kind._ It made him ache to think of the world crushing her like it did him.

He couldn't believe he'd almost walked away from her because she threw him a birthday party.

Betty gave him a watery smile and placed her palm on his chest. "How anyone could manage to hide a heart as big as yours, Jughead Jones, I have no idea."

She then swept up to kiss him, softly, sweetly. But then, when she pulled away to smile and admire him through tilted lashes, there was a subtle change in the air. A soft crackle. He flickered his gaze over her face and saw her eyes darken before she dipped forward to kiss him again, this time with a bit more heat, a bit more need. Jughead felt it whoosh down his back and his arms in a course of warmth and something tightened in his gullet.

He pulled away, clearing his throat.

"We should, uh… we should probably watch the movie."

Betty looked just as startled as he felt. She bit her lip and nodded quickly. "OK. Um, yeah, we should." She reached over for the take-out bag, her movements nervous and jerky. "Food?"

Jughead turned the volume up on her laptop and he immediately missed her warmth when the two separated to divvy up the snack haul between them.

"Be careful with the crumbs if you can," Betty said. "My mother would draw and quarter us if she knew we were eating in her car right now."

 _Your mother would do a lot worse if she knew what else we could be doing in her car right now,_ Jughead thought but didn't feel safe making the joke.

"Aye, aye, captain," he said instead, around an unattractive mouthful of burger, and didn't even berate himself for sounding like a dork. Jughead Jones had always loved eating, but he'd never felt more grateful to have something to occupy his hands and mouth than he did now.

The tension had settled around them like a fog and even forty minutes later, after the food was gone and they lay back, spent, watching Russel Crowe and Kim Basinger as Officer White and Lynn Bracken circled each other in Bracken's L.A apartment, it didn't dissipate.

"Kim Basinger looks nothing like Veronica Lake," Betty complained. "Even in-movie, people saying she does doesn't make any sense."

"Suspended disbelief." Jughead shrugged. "You could probably pass for her. But your eyes are bigger."

She looked up at him and arched a brow. "You saying I look like Veronica Lake?"

She struck a vacant-looking pose. Jughead grinned.

"'I'm saying you look better than Veronica Lake,'" he quoted back to her in Crowe's impulsive but soft-spoken delivery, bumping her nose with his playfully.

She laughed.

"You're a dork," she accused and he couldn't help himself; he swept down to grinningly steal a kiss. She tasted just like the chocolate m & m's they'd just finished eating and was consoled that he probably tasted the same (he hoped).

When he pulled away, however, Betty was no longer smiling. Her eyes were hooded and she was looking at his lips.

"Juggie," she whispered.

He tilted her head back and they kissed again. Sweetly, tenderly. Come together, retreat. Come together, retreat. Each touch of their lips lingering a bit longer after the last and as their rhythm changed, their breathing changed. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close and she pressed into him eagerly. Her fingernails scraped along the nape of his neck, sending phantoms of yearning skating down his spine. He reached up to tug on her ponytail and she pulled back from him to let down her hair, shaking her head as she let the blonde locks spill resplendent down over her shoulders.

When she was finished, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Definitely better than Veronica Lake," he breathed and the same crackle in the air was back.

Betty's eyes opened to meet his, and this time, it hit them like a lightning storm.

Kevin Spacey and Guy Pierce were on screen next, but his hand slapped the computer closed and slid it away. She was on his lap before he realized he wanted her there, hands fisting into the front of his shirt, clinging to him fiercely. She tasted cold and sweet, though her mouth was warm and wet and inviting against his and Jughead swore he'd never felt anything so sublime as Betty's tongue in his mouth. He groaned against her, hands finding the smooth flesh of her back under her shirt, pulling her closer, then needing her even closer than that.

He had no idea what he was doing. They had never kissed like this before. He had never kissed anyone like this before. This thing between them always seemed so fine-boned and precious, too easy to crush with the wrong flex of this hand.

But she was solid beneath his hands now, warm and alive and flesh and bone and it was a bit like like hurtling toward the center of the earth, pulled in by her gravity.

"Betty," he choked and his voice was so deep and guttural, he could barely recognize it as his own. Her palms were mapping out the planes of his chest, his back, the front of his stomach, making his hips snap in a small rabbit-y thrust.

"Shhh," she whispered, pulling his beanie off his head and threading her fingers through his hair. She regarded him with half-lidded, dreamy eyes. "Hold me tighter."

She then reached for the hem of her shirt and sweater, tugging them clean off her body.

Jughead almost forgot how to breathe. Her bra was lilac and sheer lace, with a satiny bow in the center. It left much of the tops of her breasts uncovered, and her breath hitched as his fingertips shyly ghosted over the swell and curvature of the smooth, polished skin before moving over to thumb the strap.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, looking up into her face.

She pushed the strand of hair out of his eye. "So are _you_ ," she said and then flushed when he smiled. "Shut up."

They both looked down to watch him gingerly trail a knuckle over her ribs, her waist, her hips, before splaying his palm over the front of her belly. She closed her eyes, lashes sweeping her cheeks and he felt the muscles of her stomach flutter in response to his touch.

"Juggie," she breathed again and he froze when she took his hand and placed it on her breast. The flesh was round and soft and fit perfectly into the contours of his palm; like it'd been made for it and that was about as far as his thoughts had taken him.

Betty opened her eyes and her brows bunched together in concern.

"You're trembling," she said, touching a hand to his cheek.

It was more than that. His teeth were chattering.

Any moment now, he was going to wake up.

"I'm nervous," he admitted, looking up into her eyes. "I've never done this with anyone before."

"Neither have I." She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his temple. "But I want to do this with you."

His heart started slamming in chest again.

"Betty…"

"Let's go slow." She placed her hand on top of his, pressing into him "If there's something either of us find uncomfortable, we tell each other straight away, OK?"

She gazed into his eyes searchingly and he swallowed hard, but nodded.

She turned her face towards him and tapped her cheek. "Kiss me here," she instructed and he complied with a soft, feathery kiss. She turned her head again and this time tapped her neck and he kissed her there too. "And here." She brushed her collarbone. "Here." Then the top of one breast. "Here." Then the other. "Here."

Betty paused, looking down at him. Her pupils were blown and her lips parted. She was breathing harder now, her chest rising and falling.

Her fingers drifted lower to the valley between her breasts.

"Here too," she mumbled. There was change in the air again and all their edges seemed to sizzle. Time slowed. Both their breaths stuttered as his kiss touched her sternum.

Betty licked her lips and indicated the raised peak beneath the pretty lace next.

"And…"

He leaned down, dark hair falling into his eyes and she gasped.

Jughead didn't need further instruction beyond that.

It was like finally sliding into a warm bathwater after a few sensitive dips, a toe first, then all the sensitive middle parts, before instinct took over and chased out all doubt and hesitation and all thought was lost in the wash

He kissed and nipped and licked her through the fabric and when her hands became claws under his shirt and her gasps turned into moans, he pushed the garment up to her chin and took her into his mouth.

She fought with him to unbutton his flannel, wrestled with him for his t-shirt and then warred for his undershirt, his mouth never straying far from her flesh. Skin and breath and a hint of teeth.

"Oh my God, Juggie," she panted. "How many layers are you wearing?!"

 _God damn too many._

He broke to peel off his white tank and she, her bra, and they both groaned when her bare chest—still wet from his kisses—finally collided with his, skin against skin, her open mouth dragging over his chin, his jaw to cover his once more.

Betty's tongue touching his was good. All of it was good. Right. Better. Every touch, every sensation was a shock. His entire body was humming with electricity; vibrant and sensitized by the weight of her, the smell of her, each roll of her hips against his strumming the scorching line from crotch to the back of his skull.

It was almost too much.

And yet, somehow not enough.

He was hard. It was impossible not to be. Not when she was making those delicious sounds, her curious fingers roaming over his body. Just the pressure of her sitting on him made him want to God damn cry and it took everything not to buck up into her when she rolled her hips and pushed down just like that, just so _good,_ he saw nebula.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed harder into their kiss, possessively sliding his fingers through the softness of her hair. Something was tugging in his chest. The need to be nearer. Closer. Inside. It was a coaxing, slow drag that latched onto his nerve endings and pitched him forward, wanting to caress, wanting to taste, wanting to savor every exposed patch of satiny skin.

He flipped them, pressing her back against the seat beneath him as he ripped his mouth away from hers and attacked her neck with ravenous kisses. His nose and mouth were full of her scent, the faint notes of her favourite coconut shampoo, the sweet-salt of her skin. His hand found her breast again, caressing soft, pliant flesh and she moaned, hands roaming over his back, his chest, clawing through his hair, hips undulating beneath his.

He was consumed. Lost. Spiraling toward some kind of white light surrender that was everything heavenly pink and cotton and Betty Cooper. All the air felt like it was being siphoned out of his lungs and it was just scent and touch and heat and lips.

He could feel the furnace between her legs.

Too much. Too much. _Too much_.

"Betty," he gasped and this time, it was a plea for mercy. He was a star on the brink of a supernova and this was not how he wanted it with her, not just yet. "We" (kiss) "should" (kiss) "stop." (kiss). "Before I—" (kiss) "—uh."

He couldn't seem to stop.

"OK," she seemed to understand his meaning and kissed him. "All right." She kissed him again. "Mmmhmm. Starting now."

She framed his face with her hands and the last kiss she gave him lingered. It was only by sheer willpower that he managed to extricate himself. He threw himself off of her bodily, panting, and rested his burning cheek against the cool glass of the car window.

On the opposite side of the car, Betty drew herself up on her elbows looking dazed and well-mussed. She was naked from the waist up.

Holy _shit_.

"Jug? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just, uh… give me a moment." He licked his teeth. He felt dazed, confused, disoriented. Like waking up buzzing from a long, involved dream. He drew in a deep breath through his nose as slowly, slowly the world came spinning back and once more, they were sitting in the back seat of her mother's Lincoln continental, on an ordinary mid-October night.

Betty sat up and he noticed that instead of her sweater, she was pulling on his flannel shirt, doing up the buttons.

"Oh come on." Jughead huffed out a tired laugh. "You're killing me here."

"Why?" Betty gave him a sneaky smile and she pulled her hair back up into a messy pineapple. "Do you like me wearing your clothes?"

She crawled back over to him and dropped a kiss on his lips, handing him his t-shirt. She looked _good_ in his clothes. Hair mussed, cheeks pink, mouth well-kissed—looking so damn tempting he had to restrain himself from putting his hand behind her head and pulling her down for another searing kiss.

Too many heads, not enough blood.

 _Rest in peace, Jughead Jones._

He dropped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "I'm never going to get that back, am I?"

"Nope," Betty said cheerily.

He shook his head and pulled on his shirt. Then he raised his arm in invitation.

"C'mere," he said. "Just—don't move too much."

She laughed and dropped down to snuggle into his side. They stayed like that for a few moments of comfortable silence, just listening to each other's breaths and heartbeats.

And then…

"We're not going to finish watching this movie, are we?"

* * *

Notes: Thoughts and comments always appreciated ❤


End file.
